


Sister Marie Says

by richcreamerybutter



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: F/M, Hand Job, Hurt/Comfort, In a tenuous sense, NSFW, POV Original Female Character, Popia is emotional ok, Sexual favour, Smut, dressing room hand job, imposter syndrome, sister of sin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:42:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26308768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/richcreamerybutter/pseuds/richcreamerybutter
Summary: Sister Imperator and the assembled clergy are waiting on their new leader in Mexico City - but he's nowhere to be seen. It's up to Sister Marie to find him and do whatever it takes to get him to join them.
Relationships: Papa Emeritus IV/Sister(s) of Sin
Comments: 8
Kudos: 11





	Sister Marie Says

**Author's Note:**

> OK you all know which prompts and fanart gave me this idea! Massive thanks to copiaswitch who gave this a proper going over when I was shitting myself over it.
> 
> For the eagle-eyed British pop culture fan types, yes I robbed the sisters' names off 1. an OMD song about Sofia Richmond and 2. the main nun off Call the Midwife
> 
> Smushy notes re. Ghost and sexuality at the end xoxoxox

There is a new atmosphere to the ghoul room tonight. I've been in here many a time, in its many guises – it's similar in vibe wherever we go, even if the room itself changes. When you step through the door it's like the venue outside doesn't exist, like you're back at the ministry. Of course, making it feel this way is part of my job when I'm out on tour. Make the clergy feel at home and all that.

Tonight, though, we're all in new territory. I'm not sure if this feels like anything else I've ever felt before, or ever will again. All of us assembled here are waiting in still silence, no doubt mulling over what's just happened. There's triumph and there's tragedy and the balance of the two is confusing as hell. I think we've agreed that none of us is going to be the first to break this sombre silence with ill-placed words. Except Sister Imperator, at the head of the table, is starting to check her watch every thirty seconds or so, the lines on her forehead much more pronounced than usual.

None of us, the assembled sisters, ghouls and ghoulettes, want to ask her what's wrong. We all know. We're just waiting for her to be the one to say it.

'Where the hell is he?'

I exchange glances with Sister Julienne beside me, and she raises her eyebrows in lieu of a proper shrug. I give her a tiny shake of the head. A scan of the table, with my eyes only, reveals only a sea of confusion. How can none of us have seen our new Papa? Have we lost him already?

'Sister Marie Gabriel,' Sister Imperator says, and I start. I have no idea why she's calling on me. I have nothing to do with the business that goes on at the higher levels of the clergy. I am, for want of a better word, not much more than admin. I certainly have no idea where Papa has got to, if that's what she wants.

'Yes, Sister?'

'Will you go and knock on the door of Papa's dressing room for me? Tell him he must report to the ghoul room as a matter of urgency. Not that he should need telling.' Sister Imperator rolls her eyes, and I have to admit she has good reason. Tonight is perhaps the most important night the ministry has ever seen. So much will need to be planned and prepared as we move into the new age of Ghost – and he is going to be at the forefront of all of it. He's worked so hard for years that I find it hard to believe he's chickened out now that his time's finally come. And she's chosen me to stir him because ... I'm closest to the door. Ah.

I give a deep nod, all eyes on me, and leave the room. I assume the rest of them remain there in silence as I move through the backstage corridors. The ghoul room smelled of patchouli and jasmine – out here smells like a concert venue all over again. It's gritty and dusty, and my habit stands out among the crew here in their practical polo shirts and steel toecaps. I often forget we do our work more publicly than most churches, and avert my eyes as I feel everyone else's on me.

Fortunately, it isn't far to the Cardinal's – or rather, Papa's, although the name on the door hasn't been updated yet – dressing room. I'm suddenly nervous as to what I might find behind it. There has to be a good reason he didn't automatically join us in the ghoul room after such a huge ritual. How had he taken his ascension? Perhaps more worryingly, how had he taken the death of the most senior, longest-serving member of the clergy? I knock, gently at first, then again with a bit more force when I realise how noisy it is out here with the crew still disassembling the stage.

What if he's not even in his room? Does Sister Imperator expect me to trawl Mexico City looking for a stray pope?

'Yes?'

No. He's here, thank goodness, and he sounds awake and alert enough.

'It's Sister Marie Gabriel,' I say, trying to keep any trace of concern or urgency from my voice. 'Sister Imperator has asked –'

'What?'

I sigh – it's too noisy out here to be having a full conversation from either side of a door like this. 'Erm. Can I come in for a minute?'

There is silence for a beat. 'I suppose so. The door is open.'

I know I just witnessed it happen, but I'm still not ready for him when I walk into the dressing room, closing the door gently behind me. He hasn't changed yet, nor has he washed off his new skull paint, and he looks every bit as elegant as he did when he first emerged from the huddle we formed around him as we dressed him on-stage. He's still in his black suit. I wouldn't be surprised if he were sewn into his trousers the way Olivia Newton John was in Grease, but tonight was the first time I've ever been enlisted to assist in his dressing. It was an emergency situation, after all. So I wouldn't know whether or not he has to cut himself out of them at the end of each ritual, and I do find myself wondering as I watch him now.

He is leaning on his dresser at the other end of the room, leather-clad hands clutching the edge of the surface as he stares at himself in the mirror – so he hasn't even taken his gloves off. He only glances up at me when I enter the room.

'Sister Imperator is asking for you,' I say. 'I think there's a lot to discuss.'

He turns his head just enough so that I can see both of his eyes. We don't know one another that well, but the few times we've spoken, or even been in the same room, it's always his eyes that strike me. Well. They'd strike anyone. I never know which one to look in, as though they function differently from one another somehow when I know that isn't true.

'I don't doubt that,' he says. 'But I'm not in any fit state to see Sister at the moment.'

'Oh.' I allow him a pause in which to elaborate, but all he does is go back to staring at his reflection in the mirror. Perhaps he's drinking in the paint before he has to wash it off and go to bed? I can't say I blame him. 'Is everything OK?'

Now, he heaves a massive sigh.

'Sister, I don't want to offend you,' he says.

'It's fine,' I say quickly. 'You've had the most intense night of all of us. I can leave, if you like, and tell Sister you'll join us when you're –'

'No, it's nothing like that,' he says. 'I just mean … well. You've asked me if everything is OK, so I'm going to tell you what my problem is, but I think you'll probably find it … unseemly.'

I take a deep breath, wondering what on Earth he could mean by that. If he's willing to tell me, a Sister of not-much-importance, I'd consider myself flattered to hear it.

'Try me,' I say. 'It's not as though we haven't had an unseemly enough ritual here tonight.'

So he gives the mirror one last, giant grimace, then pushes himself up so he's standing upright and turns his whole body to face me. I'm struck, at first, by how short he still looks – I'd half-expected the ascension to elevate him physically, too.

I'm struck almost immediately afterwards by the size of the bulge in his painted-on trousers. The realisation triggers a warm wrench in my lower abdomen that I try to ignore.

'Oh,' I say. 'I see what you mean …'

'And it won't go away!' He almost yells it as he sits down heavily and buries his face in his gloves. 'I don't know what to do. I know I'm expected in the ghoul room, but … there is no way I can turn up looking like this.' He raises his head so he can use his hands to gesture downwards, then groans.

 _I don't know what to do …_ I know he can be a bit of an idiot, but I really, really can't believe he's _that_ innocent. I brace myself to suggest the obvious, just in case he genuinely hasn't considered it, while waiting for the backlash anyway. Just in case.

'I don't want to pry, Papa,' I say carefully. I don't want to look him in the eye any more, either, but I certainly don't feel comfortable looking anywhere else. 'But have you tried – you know – pleasuring yourself? I'm sure if the situation demands it … say, like it does right now … it would be faster than waiting it out, surely?'

I almost make him smile. I see him trying to resist it. Instead of letting himself relax that far, though, he holds his gloved hands out in front of him. I still haven't moved from my spot in front of the door, but even from where I am, I can see that they're trembling violently.

'Sister, I have tried,' he says. 'Trust me. But you must understand why I'm finding it quite difficult to function right now …'

I do. Of course I do. I nod, and he nods back. There's eye contact, the first time it's been so deliberate on both our parts, and I notice that the black paint from under his eyes has run down his cheeks slightly. I forget the imminent issue for a moment.

'You are OK, aren't you?' I say quietly.

He closes his eyes, nods again.

'I'm fine,' he says. 'Thank you. I'm just … it's been a strange night.'

You can say that again, Papa Emeritus the Fourth.

I start to walk over to him, and he doesn't object to me approaching him in his exposed state. I think he just sees it as a problem that needs solving, to be honest. And I'm there to solve problems. Call it admin.

'I bet it has,' I whisper. I sit down next to him on the stool by his dressing table. There isn't much room and we're squashed together, his thigh toned and tight against my habit. And, I have to admit, it arouses something in me.

Without hesitating, although I want to in case he objects, I go for the button on his trousers. He really is tense. I can feel him shaking all over, muscles tight like he's poised for something even though, for now at least, he doesn't have to do anything at all. His part is over.

'Oh, God,' he says, his voice catching in his throat. 'Sister Marie, you really do not have to do this.'

I shush him. 'Just relax. You've had thousands of people in your control all night, it won't hurt you to relinquish it for a few minutes.'

His whole body loosens even at those words.

I know it isn't me who's driven him to this hardness, but there's an electric thrill even so as I feel how strained the fabric of his trousers is. I'm unfastening him as gently as I can, though. This can't be an act of sexual desire on my part. I am simply helping my Papa, performing a function. And he's content with this. He relaxes against me, small moans starting in his throat as I release his erection. He doesn't wear underwear onstage. We all know this, the Sisters who help with the wardrobe changes during rituals have told us the stories, but it's still jarring to come face-to-face with such a revered cock when it springs free.

'OK?' I whisper, and he nods with another, appreciative little noise deep in his throat.

I shift the trousers down slightly, exposing as much of him as possible so that I can get my hand all the way down his shaft. That's how I start – moving slowly, feeling for his reactions in his breath so I know which spots stimulate him the most. I keep my eyes there, too. It feels intrusive, somehow, to see his face as I do this, but I imagine him with his head back, neck exposed, and eyes closed. I don't do it deliberately, but the idea gives rise to a heat in the very pit of my abdomen.

I reach the base, giving just a bit of attention to his balls before moving upwards again, slightly more quickly, and tracing the pad of my thumb around his head when I'm back where I started. He's leaking up there already, and I take the opportunity to spread the slickness around so that I have some on my hand to make the descent back to the base a little smoother.

'Faster?' I say. He exhales.

'Mmm. Take it as it comes, Sister. You have no idea how huge a favour you are doing for me.'

He's speaking far too calmly, too rationally: his cock, right now, is more excited than his mind – not to mention the imminence of the meeting that is supposed to be happening, right now, in the ghoul room.

'Well,' I say. I lower my voice as I start to move my hand in a steady rhythm, up and down. 'After the show you gave us … it's the least you deserve. I only wish I could do more for you.'

He grunts, the sound still not leaving his throat. I chance a glance up: he is, indeed, oblivious to dressing room reality, eyes shut and neck exposed. It takes a surprising amount of willpower not to lean over and kiss it. Bite it, even. I squeeze my thighs together and concentrate instead on the pulsing dick inside my clasped fingers. I've squeezed by accident when I pushed my legs into one another and it seems to've excited him.

'You looked incredible up there,' I breathe. I don't know who I'm saying this to now. It isn't untrue. 'I always thought you suited red, but no … blue is your colour. Majestic. So beautiful.'

'Sweet nothings,' he dismisses.

'Not nothings,' I tell him. I slow down again, circling his head. The words are forming easily, things I was feeling tonight that I never thought I would share. 'Truths. If I was lying, why did I have such impure thoughts of you when you were revealed in your new cope?'

He pushes his hips to the ceiling slightly and I allow the movement the way he wants it, fucking my hand with a little more urgency. 'Impure, Sister?'

'I promise you, mine are not the only thoughts you will be occupying tonight. You exuded power, sexual charisma. How lucky for me that I am the one who has the pleasure of serving you in return …'

There's a change in his whole demeanour. His face has tightened, his body, too. Most of the movements going on are his own and he's thrusting with desperation, exerting enough effort that he's short of breath. I'm not teasing or playing any more. I move with him, applying more pressure with my fingers, and he moans in rhythm.

'Please,' he begs. 'Keep going. I am almost there.'

I can feel how close he is in his twitching, and the thighs I've pushed so tightly together contract and relax with the rhythm of his hips, stimulating the sweet spot between my own legs. Suddenly, the favour doesn't seem like enough. I close my eyes to intensify the sensation, conjuring myself into a more involved role. I'm whimpering with longing when I speak again.

'Come for me, then,' I tell the man in my mind almost as much as I tell the man before me. 'You've worked so hard, my darling. You've put your all into this, and you deserve your release … my Papa.'

I'd saved that word for when I knew it would have the biggest impact, and it works. He comes with a violent shudder, a deep moan and a string of Italian curses, and I'm ready with my loose sleeve to contain the resulting hot spillage – in all my mental ecstasy I have not forgotten that he won't be met in good favour if he turns up in front of Sister with cum stains on his beautiful black suit.

' _Mio caro_ ,' he gasps. He folds completely, limp against me, forehead reaching for his sticky cock. 'Thank you. You have no idea how … you have done me a great service here …'

'Think nothing of it, Papa,' I say. There's a strange, semi-satisfied sensation consuming me, a glass half full. What started as a simple favour has me far warmer and wetter than I had expected and I almost whine at him to return the favour right here, right now. It's only the knowledge of the assembled clergy, waiting patiently on us, that stops me. This was never about me. Tonight is only about him.

'No,' he says firmly. He's softening now, and he's gathered himself enough to be able to tuck his cock away into his stain-free trousers. 'No, I am not a selfish lover, Sister Marie. Tell me – truly – are you aroused right now? Even the smallest amount?'

I can't hide it from him, not when he asks me outright: I nod, feeling my cheeks heat up the way my groin already has, and it coaxes the first smile I have seen on his face all evening. It's small, and if I'm not imagining things, it's slightly coy.

'Then I owe you. Whenever you are ready, when we have the time to make sure you are truly satisfied – it is my turn. I will not forget.'

He raises his hand, still clad in leather, to my jaw, and kisses me gently on the lips. It's only for a second or two, but the promise of there being _more_ … the entire lower half of my body is turning to fluid. I'm not sure I'll be able to stand, but he takes my hand and together, we get up and head out of his dressing room, walking to the ghoul room like two people on a mission.

There's a stunned silence when we enter. Then, after one or two seconds of open-mouthed awe, a handful of Sisters begin to clap. The rest of the room follows. It's sombre, focused applause, nothing like the raucous chanting of _Papa! Papa!_ from the crowd earlier that would've given anyone an erection, but it's for him nevertheless, and he bows his head in a gesture of thanks. This isn't without sacrifice, we all know that. But I'm fairly sure that no one in that room would dispute that he absolutely deserves this title.

I scurry to my seat during the affray, and Sister Julienne leans into me with a tiny smirk. Everyone else is still transfixed by Papa. Thank God. She looks at me pointedly, then wipes a spot on her bottom lip with a finger.

_You missed a bit._

**Author's Note:**

> OK ... this is the first time I've ever published something like this, anywhere. In fact it's the first time I've ever properly written something like this, and I've been writing almost all my life. Just a testament to Ghost and what they've done for my acceptance of my own sexuality and sexuality in general, I guess. I've said it on other platforms but I've never had an interest in nsfw content of any description - it's literally only Ghost that makes me feel safe and looked after enough to indulge. So this is my first ever foray into that world and while I felt weird and scared and very very unsexy actually writing it, I can't say I didn't enjoy it, and I do have more ideas. So thank you tf for yet another facet of my life that you've made a million times better. And again, thank you copiaswitch for understanding how hard this was for me to write and making it sound way sexier!


End file.
